


Once warmed my hands over a burning Maserati

by Kat



Series: A soul that's born in cold and rain [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21613366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat/pseuds/Kat
Summary: Everything feels wrong after a plan gone bad. Junkrat wants to do the right thing for a change.
Relationships: Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes/Roadhog | Mako Rutledge
Series: A soul that's born in cold and rain [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705933
Comments: 4
Kudos: 80





	Once warmed my hands over a burning Maserati

They were still a good hour away from home when thunder cracked overhead and the skies, which had been threatening for ages, opened up, dumping what felt like a bucket of freezing rain over them. It was, Junkrat decided, just the perfect fucking finish to a perfect fucking day.

Shoulda guessed the suits’d be dicking them over. Can’t never trust ‘em. That was the first mistake. The second mistake was making the stop at Bobby’s just so Roadhog could pick up some stupid useless pachimari plush he’d ordered online. If he’d just waited until another fucking day they would’ve been home before the storm and Junkrat’d be dry and happily working on his plans to get revenge on that two-faced drongo instead of soaked and miserable.

He couldn’t even curse Roadhog out like he wanted to; the rain - rare in this part of the Outback - turned the dirt roads to mud instantly and it was slippery as shit. He knew Roadhog needed all of his concentration to keep from dumping them. He knew it, but it pissed him off anyway. _Everything_ fucking pissed him off. Including the silent judgement he could feel radiating from Roadhog. Judgy bastard. Not like any of this shit was Junkrat’s fault. He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to keep from shivering. He hated being cold. And wet. His hair hung limply into his eyes and down the back of his neck. Felt gross, like old noodles. For a second he actually envied Roadhog’s pachimari plush, snuggled warm and dry under his jacket. The only one of them that was dry. Should nick a car, maybe. Pain in the ass to find one big enough for Roadhog, but at least they’d be dry.

He slumped in the sidecar, closed his eyes to keep the rain out, and let himself plan. They could hit a dealership. Still a couple to be found even if they had to trek all the way to Perth. Assuming, of course, that the fucking chopper could make it that far. Piece of shit broke down more than it worked, no matter how much time Roadhog devoted to it. Hit the place late enough at night and there wouldn’t be civvies around to worry about. Blow up the offices and a few key cars out front, and when the first responders were busy with that, make off with one of the cars in the back lot. Need to gather more intel first, though. He smiled, picturing the gout of flames as the building went up. The billowing waves of heat. Could never be cold when the world was burning.

Junkrat sighed - nothing beautiful as fire. Burning. Explosions. It was all bloody perfect. From the smallest sparks swirling into the sky like stars set loose, to the lick of flame dancing on the tip of a match as he set the fuse alight, to the almost-tamed fire contained in a hearth but ready at a moment to escape and light the whole house, to the conflagration after one of his explosions that roared and devoured everything in its path. He smiled to himself, imagining the orange-red glow that stained the sky, the rolling clouds of smoke… The snap, crack, pop of the flames. He painted the memory in his mind. Almost enough to make him forget the rain, forget the failure - _your failure_ a whisper of a thought through his mind, not much more than a wisp of smoke. He waved it away. Not mine - had the perfect plan, ‘f he didn’t screw it up.

_You screwed it up, Jamison. You._

Junkrat frowned. Fuck off.

_You know the truth. You always screw it up. He humors you, but that won’t last forever, especially if you keep up like this._

This weren’t my fault. The suit lied and…

 _Have you ever known one to be honest? Lie to yourself all you want, but everyone else knows the truth._ Even as it gave warning, the whisper sounded pleased. Junkrat shook his head, trying to dislodge the thoughts, silence the voice. Suddenly he realized the bike had stopped.

“Gonna just sit there?”

He blinked the water out of his face and realized Roadhog had parked them in the garage. Felt muzzy headed and weird. His throat was hurting, like he’d inhaled too much smoke. He rubbed his eyes, and pushed himself up. “Course not. Was just tryin’ to figure what the hell happened back there.”

Roadhog shrugged. “Got fucked up. Seems pretty clear.”

Junkrat’s skin prickled, more than just gooseflesh from the cold. “Told ya shouldn’t trust the fuckin’ drongos.” He pushed past Roadhog and slammed into the house. The door clattered against the wall. The noise did nothing to drown the whisper. _Liar… he told you..._

“...” Roadhog had followed, of course, with his loud fucking silent commentary. Junkrat wished he had a clue how he did that.

“Suits always only thinkin’ about themselves. Takin’ advantage of a coupla blokes just tryin’ to go straight. ‘S bullshit is what it was.” He paced from one end of the room to the other. “Gonna fix it, though. Gonna get the fucker back, that’s sure. Blow his shit to the moon. Make him regret ever meeting us.”

“Maybe just let this one ride,” Roadhog said, taking off his jacket and hanging it up on the hook by the door. He took the plush from the pocket and put it on the shelf with the others, arranging them carefully.

“You gotta be fucking shitting me, mate. Let him go and everyone start thinking we gone soft.” He narrowed his eyes. “‘S that what’s happening here? You goin’ soft on me?”

Roadhog turned from the shelf, just looking at him.

Junkrat could feel the tension gathering in him like the thunderstorm that was still raging outside. He knew there was a warning. He didn’t care. “Quit staring with that fucking mask. Doesn’t scare me.” _Liar…_ the voice whispered. _Such a liar…_

“...”

“Think ya are, you and those fuckin’ _things_ ,” he gestured to the shelf, as though it were evidence of some crime. 

“Quit being an asshole, Rat.” Roadhog held himself almost perfectly still and Junkrat knew he was pushing him too far.

“Oh I’m the asshole. You’re the one playing with dolls and telling me to give fucking suits a fucking break.”

“Shut up.”

“Fuck you.” He wanted to make a more cutting comment but he was having trouble thinking through the smoke in his head.“Always telling me to shut up, always… _Huh-Riisssh! Rissha!”_ The sneezes burst out unexpectedly, interrupting his train of thought and leaving him sniffling.

“Stop it,” Roadhog said.

“Wh… _ihh ...uhh…_ what?” He rubbed his nose, itches still setting him on edge. He looked around for any tissues but no luck. He was stuck wiping his nose on his wrist. Gross.

Roadhog just looked at him. He stared back. Not gonna be intimidated.

A drip of water slid from his hair, traced a tickly path down his nose and the sneezes hit hard, bending him nearly double. “ _Ah’rissha-issh-issha! Isssha! Ahrisssh!_ Fuck.”

“Just stop.”

Junkrat scowled. “Sorry for fucking sneezing, mate. Can’t exactly help it.”

“Bullshit. You’re faking to get me sidetracked and it’s a shitty thing to do.” Roadhog crossed his arms over his chest, picture of unmoving, unmoved.

“I’m no... _huh_...not…” Ugh. Kept needing to sneeze. Just wanted to curl up in a corner somewhere and dry off. Warm up. But he felt trapped. Stuck in the stupid argument that didn’t even really matter.

“Like hell. You’re taking advantage.”

_See? He doesn’t believe you anymore either. Doesn’t trust you. Only a matter of time. Tick tock. Time’s running out._

Junkrat shook his head. Shut it, he told the whisper. It just drifted under his nose like a tendril of smoke. He took a breath, held it, bit his tongue. He was not going to fucking sneeze again. Not going to give Roadhog the satisfaction. He could feel the burn of Roadhog’s gaze on him as he struggled with the urge and he couldn’t decide which pissed him off more, the fucking itch in his nose or the mingling desire and embarrassment of having Roadhog watching him. He couldn’t stand it, he felt like he was going to burst. He wished he could destroy something.

“Would ya quit looking at me. You’re makin’ me feel fucking weird.” Pleased to have managed to get it out without sneezing, but his head felt stuffed with cotton and he was beginning to get that warning ache in his missing arm and leg that signaled a fever rising. Of fucking course.

Roadhog didn’t move. Was possible he wasn’t staring, couldn’t be sure with the mask, but it sure as shit felt like he was.

Junkrat threw his hands up in frustration. “Fine. I’m outta here.” He couldn’t make himself stay. He had to get out, even though it was still raining, even though he just wanted to sleep off whatever was making him feel like shit. He couldn’t be in the same room as Roadhog. Couldn’t be in the same house. He slammed the door behind him with satisfaction.

Which faded quickly as the rain continued to piss over his head. Mud dragged at his boot and made his prosthetic wobble disconcertingly. What was he doing? Where was he going? Too far to walk into town in this shit weather, and never the best idea without either Roadhog or some sort of disguise and he had neither. Could take the motorcycle, but he knew he was a problematic driver at the best of times. This was not the best of times. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, wishing it might make him even a bit warmer and walked.

By the time the red neon sign for the pub appeared out of the rain and clouds, Junkrat was so exhausted and cold that he decided he didn’t give a shit who might or might not recognize him. He just wanted to get out of the rain, sit down, and have a drink. He tugged open the door, his wet hand slipping on the doorknob.  
  
For a second he stood just inside, rubbing rain off his face and relishing in the feeling of being warm, even if the air did smell like stale beer and old cigarette smoke and made him cough. A quick glance around the room - only a couple of other people hiding out from the weather. Some bloke practically passed out at the end of the bar, a sheila by herself a couple seats away, and the bartender. No one looked like trouble, but couldn’t be too careful anyway. He hunched his shoulders, slouching a bit and made his way to the bar.

  
“What’ll it be, mate?” The bloke tending bar barely made eye contact as he asked. Clearly didn’t care who Junkrat was, or what he was doing there, beyond the drink. Made Junkrat somewhat more comfortable.

“Whiskey. Straight.” His voice rasped a little and he cleared his throat. Maybe the alcohol would kill off the germs. Or at least knock him out for a bit. The first sip burned a trail from his throat down to the center of his stomach, where it pooled into warmth. For the first time since shit started going south his muscles relaxed. He tossed back the rest of the drink and ordered another.

“Judge came back with time served,” the sheila said to the bartender, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. “Can you believe it?” She gazed into her nearly empty glass, like it might be able to explain.

The bartender shrugged. “Pretty sure the judges ‘round here are all on the take.”

She shook her head. “Bullshit’s what it is. The kid barely lived. Won’t ever have a normal life…” she drained her glass and the bartender refilled without comment.

“What happened,” Junkrat found himself asking, curious.

The sheila blinked at him, blearily. The beer wouldn’t have been her first. She slurred as she described the attack on her baby niece, the woman who was trusted to care for her but almost killed her instead, because the baby was taking all her dad’s love. Clouds of anger gathered on Junkrat’s horizon as she told about the trial - only lasted a couple of days before being dismissed. Judge claimed that there wasn’t enough proof of intent, but the bitch had rich parents, parents who were friends with the Council. Junkrat knew full fucking well anyone who had Council connections could do whatever they wanted. Didn’t matter one bit that an innocent was hurt. Didn’t matter that a tiny slip of a girl would never have the chance at a real life. Wasn’t right.

He finished his second whiskey. The fire of the alcohol mingled with the fire of his anger, lighting up all of his synapses, burning away the smoke and chills, leaving the hard clarity of plans. Fucking shit needed to be _made_ right. “Where the bitch at now,” he asked.

Sheila shrugged. “Her daddy’s probably picking her up at the jail. Fuck if I know where she goes after that.”

Junkrat ordered a third drink and considered. The clock behind the bar read 11:30. Prisoner release was at midnight. It’d be too late if he waited for Roadhog, so he’d have to do this one on his own. Small job though, no problem. He swallowed half the whiskey and took stock. Hadn’t brought the frag launcher so he’d have to make do. Had a couple grenades - never leave home without ‘em; a couple of frag mines. Maybe a bit of phosphorous left from the last job. Could always find a bottle, make a Molotov. He was going to have to rig something up. A trap of some sort, maybe. Gonna need to move fast. He tossed off the last of the drink, left a fifty on the bar and headed for the door, barely registering the thanks of the bartender, his mind ticking with possibility.

 _Gonna fuck up another one…_ the whisper wafted through his mind, scattering plans like leaves in wind. Junkrat shook his head once, sharply. Piss off, I’m busy. He ignored the doubts, ignored the rain, ignored the way his muscles wanted to ache and his fingers wanted to shake. He held himself tight against the thread of weakness. He was going to do this one right. He was going to fix this one fucking thing. Not gonna let the Council get another one over on an innocent. And anyone who would hurt a baby like that - anyone who would rob a kid of a chance, even in this shithole… well, they didn’t deserve freedom. Hell, they didn’t deserve to live. And if it was up to Junkrat to make sure that was the outcome was more than fine with him.

He thought it went off without a hitch. Well, for him anyway. The alley’d been empty but for one car, fucking Maserati, flashy as shit, idling by the door of the jail. He’d set his traps just outside the mouth of the alley, rigged so he could set them off with the Molotov cocktails he’d managed to put together with a nicked bottle of kerosene. He wasn’t completely sure he’d have enough explosive to take out the car entirely, but a smoke grenade through the window had sent the bitch and her daddy stumbling out of the car and into the path of his frag mines. The resulting explosions, the fire… it had been beautiful, warming every single cell of his body. See, he’d wanted to say to the voice. See what I did. What I made, what I destroyed. I fixed it.

But he’d lingered too long - watching the way the flames licked the sides of the car, paint bubbling - and now he was stuck. Hadn’t fully considered an escape plan. The remaining smoke from the grenades and the explosions had given him enough cover to find a place to hide. Not a comfortable place - the rain was dripping down the back of his neck; not a safe place - too close to the scene for that, could hear sirens; but it gave him a place to regroup. Figure out the next step.

_Screwed it up again, Jamison._

Junkrat rubbed his hands over his face, his head throbbing, chills shuddering through his body. His nose was running and he sniffed, then wiped it on his wrist. He wanted to argue, but he couldn’t think of the words. He drew up his knees, rested his forehead on his arms. I’ll figure a way out, he told himself. In a minute. After I rest. For just a minute. Then, from a distance, the sound of a motorcycle. A Harley. Junkrat sat up, listening closely. He knew that sound. Roadhog. He pushed himself up, moving through the shadows, fast as he could to the west. A way out. Roadhog was coming to give him a way out.

Shouts behind him, telling him to stop, to put up his hands but then the sound of the chopper drowned them out and Roadhog appeared around the corner. The relief left Junkrat giddy and giggling.

“Bloody perfect timing, Roadie,” he said as he dropped into the sidecar. He yanked his frag launcher from its place by his feet and sent a volley of grenades off behind them. Police scattered and they roared away.

At least the rain, which still pissed down over them, slower than before but colder too, meant he didn’t need to say anything else to Roadhog. Wasn’t even sure what to say. The anger had been completely extinguished by the rain and exhaustion. He crossed his arms over his chest, like that would make him warmer somehow, and slouched down in the sidecar.Maybe just sleep it off and when he woke up it’d just be over and done. He wanted to sleep, needed to sleep, but everything hurt - his head, his eyelids, his hair. His missing arm, his missing leg. Gonna be a bad one, he realized. Shit.

“What the fuck were you doing, Rat?” Roadhog had barely parked the motorcycle before he started with the questions.

“Fixing things,” Junkrat mumbled, rubbing his nose. Enough energy to find a better place to sleep or just say fuck it and stay where he was?

Roadhog huffed out a breath. “You were being chased by the cops because you fixed something?”

Junkrat shrugged. “Might not have understood the bigger picture.”

“Which was?”

“Does it matter? Look, thanks for picking me up, but…”

“It’s my job.”

The three words hit Junkrat’s stomach with the force of a fist. Laughter floated through his thoughts. _Did you tell yourself it was something more, Jamison? Did you actually believe your lies? Now that_ _is_ _funny…_ the voice left a trail of smoke behind. Junkrat coughed, but it wasn’t enough. His nose tingled - he had to sneeze. Just exactly what he didn’t want. He sniffed and pressed a knuckle against his nose, scowling.

He shrugged, not gonna let it matter. Not gonna let Roadhog see that it mattered. “Fine. Need sleep.” He pushed himself up. Felt like shivers rattled his bones. Needed to get dry, then sleep. Figure out the rest of it later.

Roadhog stood in the doorway, effectively blocking him. His head was slightly cocked, arms crossed over his chest.

“Can ya move?” Had to keep his distance, even brushing against him would be too much.

“What’s up with you, Rat?”

“M tired. Not been sleeping. Can… can ya move?” Had to make Roadhog move. Had to. Before he started sneezing. Before he lost any pretense of control. “Please.”

Could feel Roadhog frowning behind his mask, but to Rat’s relief he moved aside. He’d just barely left the garage when the sneezes burst from him. “ _Ah’rissh-issh! Ah’rissh!”_ He knew Roadhog was watching him, gaze hot on his back, but neither said anything, and Junkrat escaped into his workroom and closed the door behind himself. He had to be alone.

He wrapped himself in a blanket and curled up on the broken down couch he’d dragged in there for nights when he was working too late. Even in dry clothes and a heavy blanket he was still fucking freezing. He knew he should take off the prosthetics, but was too much effort. He pulled up his knees, wrapped his arms tight around himself. Smaller, he had to be smaller. Even then, he still shivered.

_Are you cold, Jamison? Here all by yourself in a rat nest? Are you lonely?_

Shut it. Just fucking shut up. Junkrat squeezed his eyes closed, pressed the heels of his hand, flesh and mech against their lids. Pressed hard, harder, until it hurt. Sleep, he told himself. Could almost feel time passing, minutes crawling against his skin. His thoughts turned, twisted. Felt strange… like floating. Like one of the sparks from a fire, drifting up and up, into the black sky. He let himself go.

Sleep was a confused thing, a vague veil over reality where he alternated between freezing and burning, sometimes an icicle, sometimes an ember. His dreams were full of flame and smoke and through the orange black the sound of crying. He had to find the baby, had to tell her that he’d fixed it. That no one would hurt her again. That she’d be okay. He knew what it was to be different, to be scarred. She could still find a place for herself. Could still be happy.

A long, low chuckle drifted from the smoke. _How do you know any of that? You don’t know what her life is… do you even know what your life is? Do you have a place? Are you… happy? Or are you just lying again?_ The smoke swirled, thick and choking and Junkrat coughed, coughed, couldn’t catch his breath.

“Rat. Wake up.” A cool touch at his forehead, sliding to his cheek.

He untangled his hand from the blanket, pushed the other away. “Lemme alone, Roadie.”

“Come on, Rat. You’re hotter than hell.”

Junkrat blinked and Roadhog swam into focus. He tried for a laugh, but it sounded more like a wheeze. “Only you could think so.”

Hog shook his head, probably rolled his eyes behind the mask. “You’re sick.”

“That’s one everyone can agree on.”

Roadhog huffed a sigh, then just picked Rat up, tangle of blankets and all. “Need to be in a real bed.”

Junkrat knew he should fight, should walk himself, but he couldn’t. So he leaned his head on Hog’s chest, listening to him breathe.

“Gonna tell me what’s been pissing you off,” Hog asked as he set Junkrat on the bed and unbuckled Junkrat’s prosthetics, removing them with unusual care.

“Doesn’t matter. Head shrinkin’ me ain’t part of the job.” He turned his back, curled up again, yanking the blanket tight around himself. Still fucking cold.

A long silence between them, then the bed squeaked in protest as Hog lay down behind him. Junkrat stiffened, but he was so warm and the shivering finally stopped and his body relaxed without his consent, the traitorous fuck. 

“‘M sorry for bein’ a wanker,” Junkrat said finally. He sniffled, rubbed his nose in the blanket against a rising urge to sneeze.

Roadhog didn’t respond, but he put an arm over him, and the weight settled Rat into his body, grounding him.

“Just wanted to do it right for once, ya know? Do somethin’ for the right reasons. Shouldn’t have thought the suit would have been on the up an’ up. Know you warned me.” Another long silence and Rat wondered whether Roadhog might’ve fallen asleep.

“Radio reported about the explosion at the jail.” Roadie’s voice rumbled at his ear. “Talked some about the woman got killed. About what she’d done.” A pause. “Did the right thing, Rat. Did a good job.”

Junkrat’s face went hot. Fortunately he was saved from the need to reply by a sneeze that crashed over him like a bomb blast. “ _Ah’risshh-issh! Ah’isssha!”_ The force shuddered him into Roadhog.

Silence.

“No bless you, then?”

“Bless you, idiot.”

“Thanks, cunt.” Junkrat smiled as he drifted back to sleep.


End file.
